Stanley, why
by Crazycatscarmen
Summary: Idk about the title...but hi guys! I HAVE COME. WITH MORE ANGST. No trigger Warning's so far? Tell me if I should add one because I kinda don't know. Anyways, Stan does something and Ford can't figure out why. T because...uh...because it's sad? Fluff is coming to this! I just need to write it :P. don't die guys!
1. And so the wind blows us away

**Hi guys! THANK YOU SO MUCH. Your reviews seriously keep me going, ALL of them. I'm like screaming that you guys love my weird writing so much! Anyway, I have another story for ya, be prepared for angst and then LOTS of fluff (if I can make my brain write it :P) ENJOY, MY MARSHMALLOW COMRADES.**

 **Tw: Idk? Maybe uh...angry confused Ford? Stan who gave up kinda?**

* * *

It wasn't bad, all things considered.

Stanely stared at the opposite wall, as if the hard gray stone would start staring back. It really could've been worse. He had it all thought out before it happened anyway, including all the ways it could go wrong. This was definitely one of the least terrifying.

Stan had been in a jail cell before. Six times before, to be more accurate, and there were certainly worse things. He sighed, abruptly ending his staring contest with the wall.

Pushing himself off the bed, he fell to the floor and began doing push-ups. He struggled for a moment to get in a proper rhythm, but his body recalled the familiar motion quickly. He was now staring at the floor as he pushed himself up and down again and again.

He didn't let himself think as he worked. He continued his excersise, unthinkingly, until his joints started to ache with the strain. When this happened he fell to the floor and lied on the cold stone ground, resting his head on his sore arms until he fell asleep.

It could've been so much worse.

...

It couldn't have been worse.

Well, Stanford thought, that was a bit of an exaggeration. A hyperbole, if you will. But Stanford, although prone to more logical solutions, was also just as dramatic as his brother, just in a different manner.

Ford paced, hands clenched behind his back as he wore a hole into the old wooden floor. What was Stanely thinking, running off like that!?

He just couldn't figure out what had gone wrong.

Things seemed to be going fairly smoothly with Stanley's recovery. Although, there were rough patches, Stanford couldn't have been happier with how things were progressing.

He was just happy Stan remembered his own name. Yet, as the weeks pressed on, he could see how his brother was piecing himself back together. By the time the children had to leave, Stanely seemed to be completely himself again. (They had called to extend the deadline for the twins return home, hoping their prolonged stay would help Stanely recover faster.) It had been a sad day when they watched their niece and nephew roll away on that bus. Yet nothing peculiar or even paranormal happened that day.

So why did Stan leave? Stanford had woken up the day after the twins had gone, hoping maybe to finally restock on coffee since Mabel wasn't there to steal it, but when he walked into the kitchen, Stanley was no where to be seen.

He had searched for so long, but by the time he had found the note, Stan had been long gone.

Rereading it did nothing to help the situation either, yet he stopped from his habitual pacing to pick it up off his desk before resuming his back and forth.

The crumpled paper was now hard to read, but Ford had it nearly memorized.

 _Ford,_

 _I've been called a lot of things over the years. The more that comes back to me, the more I realize it's all mostly true. One of the most common things is that I'm a cheat. A con. A thief._

 _I don't want to be._

 _We made a deal. I'm not exactly sure how well you held up your end, but I'm not going to risk it. It's yours. The house, your name. Everything. I hope you'll be okay. I promise I won't bother you anymore._

 _~ Stanley Pines. P.s, ask Soos about taxes and bills. They've changed a bit since you've been home_.

Ford swallowed hard and growled in frustration. The paper crumpled further under the force of his grip.

Stanford had too many regrets. That horrid deal was just the icing on the cake at this point. He knew why he did it though. At the time, everything had been Stanley's fault. Why would Ford want to be anywhere near the man who had ruined him!?

Now, Stanford knew better. Yet, one thing still bugged him, nagging at his mind.

When did he ever ask Stanely to leave?

Yes, at the time, perhaps it was implied. Maybe he wouldn't have minded if Stanley had decided to leave of his own free volition. But...he had never asked. Nor would he ever have demand it. Ford had to watched his brother thrown from his only home once, he didn't want to see it happen again, especially not in one lifetime!

Ford couldn't have ever done it. That would mean he wasn't any better than his father.

Ford hated Filbrick. Why did he ever compare Stan to that cold man? Stanely was a money hoarder, but he certainly wasn't cold. Or cruel.

Stanely was good. At his heart, his core, Stanely pines was a good man.

Ford sneered and tore viscously at the note, letting the shreds fall from his hands to the floor. He watched them fall with hard eyes.

He watched as the last shred settled on the ground and he stared at it.

What was he doing? Why was he wasting time trying to figure why Stanley left!?

Ford needed to get him back. The pained scowl softened, only to settle on a determined grimace.

He had found Stan once, hiding in a hole down in Mexico. Surely he could find him again.

Stan couldn't be far.

"I'm coming for you, you knucklehead. Whether you want me to or not."

* * *

 **I swear there WILL be fluff...eventually. ITS NOT LIKE THE OTHER TIMES I SWEAR IM NOT MISLEADING.**

 **Ford: you do have a problem with that...**

 **Stan: yeah...you really should stop getting there hopes up.**

 **Me: I'm not lying this time! C'mon, don't at least one of you believe me!?**

 **Ford: ...**

 **Stan: nah, not really.**

( Hey! MM! Are you TRYING to kill me with amusement!? XD. I seriously can't even handle the amazingness that are your reviews. DON'T DIE! 3 seriously none of you are allowed to die I love all of you. )


	2. AYEEE ITS A CHAPTER

**Hey guys! Idk how much I like this chapter, but it does move a few things along, kinda filler, kinda not, enjoy! tw for how much I hate reporters!? Idk, I'm sure they aren't all bad.**

* * *

Stan wasn't sure why they insisted on a trial.

He had pleaded guilty, after all.

He was released from his temporary cell and flanked by several guards, was lead out the door of the small police station.

Ah. That's why.

Stan blinked as a million camera's flashed at him, the light blinding him through his glasses. He almost stumbled when he couldn't find his feet anymore as he was forced to walk through the crowd. The officers beside him pushed aside the clambering Journalists and Press members.

It was so loud. Stan couldn't believe it.

Why hadn't the Shack gotten this much Press!?

He was brought to a podium. Of course. He was expected to give a speech or something, wasn't he? Isn't that what long lost, supposedly dead criminals did when they were caught? Make it a huge deal? Stan didn't feel like it was a huge deal. He mostly felt empty. He had turned himself in so that Stanford could be free, not for attention.

The screaming crowd around him didn't know that though. They wanted a show. Something to make the news that he'd been caught, breaking news, something to brag about. Stan mentally shook his head. The Press was a great tool at times, but it was mostly annoying.

He didn't have time to dwell however, as he was shoved towards the mic. One reporter got close enough that Stan heard his question loud and clear.

"Are you really _the_ Stanley Pines!? Why have you been in hiding for so long!? Why the sudden return!?"

Stan frowned. The man sounded like the strange wannabe reporter, Toby, from gravity falls. It wasn't him, but he had an nearly uncontrollable urge to tell the man to shut up.

The officer beside him elbowed him in his side. Stan grunted, taking that as his que to answer the reporter.

He plastered on his best seller's smile and looked the man right in the eyes. The reporter took a hurried step back.

"Why do you get all the questions!?" Stanley quipped. He laughed and leaned closer over the podium, his arms held tightly behind him by the cuffs there.

The reporter didn't answer. Stanley shrugged.

"Alright then. No answer, eh? Guess I don't have to answer you either, pipsqueak." Stan smirked and the reporter glared at him indignantly before the officers pulled Stan away from stand.

The man on his right sighed. "Wow. You aren't very friendly, are you?" He muttered. Stan stared at him, aghast.

"What!?" Stan growled. "I'm going to jail and you want me to be happy about it!? I didn't exactly want this for myself, Bub." Stan turned away, his voice falling from it's normal overbearing volume to a whisper. "I didn't do it for me."

The officer blinked at him for a moment, but didn't otherwise speak. Stanley was marched into the courtroom in silence.

The judge seemed a decent enough lady, to Stan. Maybe had a makeup addiction, but caked on foundation was better than some of the things he'd gotten addicted to before, so he couldn't exactly judge her. (Pun definitely intended.)

Several minutes into the meeting and it was obvious it was less of a trial, and more of a way to officiate his sentence. Although, Stan was given the choice to stand and speak.

He huffed, but shook his head. He had done enough talking. There was nothing left to say.

It wasn't like the TV shows. The "trial" was over swiftly, and Stan left the court house with a sentence of fifty to life.

It could've been worse. Stan knew that. Maybe, to someone more innocent, a garunteed death sentence within a jailhouse seemed like the worst it could possibly get.

Stan was more than grateful he was dying in the joint. Better than out there, where he might make trouble.

Stan was okay. He was _fine_.

...

Who knew that television had a use after all?

Stanford Pines wasn't against television, or even fictional shows. He had really enjoyed an old show called Star Trek during his youth, until It was abruptly cancelled.

He was, however, against wasting hours of time on it, and often had no use for it since he could always be doing something better.

It wasn't much fun alone anyway.

Yet today, the television had proved it's worth.

He shook still as he stared at the screen. Reporters flanked his brother as Stanley was led up the steps of an Oregon courthouse.

How convenient. Stanely was still in state. Stanford nearly left then, more concerned about finding Stanley than anything else, but before he could shut it off, a short, nasally voiced reporter was chosen to have his question answered. Ford stopped to watch.

He admitted, he was a bit curious as to how Stanley would answer.

It might even give insight into why Stanely left in the first place. Ford leaned forward, eager for Stan's response.

"Why do you get all the questions!?" Stanley was leaning over the stand, eyes glittering mischievously. Ford held back a laugh as the reporter nearly fell backward.

It wasn't funny. It wasn't. This was his brother on the line.

{ Ford snorted. Stanley never stopped being a comedian. }

"Alright then. No answer, eh? Guess I don't have to answer you either, pipsqueak." Stan leaned away, looking triumphant before he was forced to turn away by the armed escorts at his side.

Ford may have been disappointed, but he cheered his brother on.

The press was always annoying. Even when you were being awarded. Ford would know.

It was nice to see a (frankly annoying reporter, like seriously.) Fail for once.

Ford didn't dwell on it long, even though he revelled in his brothers banter. He had a job to do.

* * *

 **See? Not very well written. Nor a good chapter in general, but that's okay. You've stuck with me this long. XD.**

 **( MM, your spammed reviews on my old stories may have given a heart attack XD THEY WERE BEAUTIFUL.) AND OMGOSH :'D there's a guest who wrote about how miscommunication or something ended up having one twin do push-ups until they dropped and another shred paper miles away XD. YOU ARE ALL SO HILARIOUS AND SWEET. I say that a lot. Anyway, man i missed posting regularly. I kinda got used to posting on my phone? So there should be less of a wait for updates hopefully! Love you guys, don't die!**

 **Man what a weird ramble.**


	3. I feel like laughin' but AHHHHH

**So! Hi! Fluff is still not here yet...but it shall be delivered soon! Man, I would make a terrible mailman. Because I'm a woman. Zing! XD idek guys. Notes at the bottom. Anyway have a chapter:**

* * *

Their wasn't much to be said about the days Stanley spent there in prison. Many times Stanley found himself getting into fist fights for amusement. He would walk back to his cell, beaten and bruised, but the victor. The other inmates learned quickly and eventually stopped challenging him. He would spend his days staring at the ceiling, wondering how he managed to make such a mess of his life. He wondered if anyone else was even capable of screwing up the way he had. It was a long list, to be sure.

Some days he excercised, for hours, loosing himself in the rhythm. The officers murmured when he walked by, breaking their silence to speculate about the strangely quiet con-man. He didn't care. They could gossip all they wanted. It wasn't like they could ever figure him out anyway.

He never got any visitors. No one tried to talk to him anymore. A young man with a retched scar over his exposed left arm once tried to recruit him for one of the prison's gangs. They were planning an escape. Stanley wasn't sure why they wanted him, but perhaps they thought Stan would be helpful. They must've known Stan had broken out of six other jails before.

Stan stared at the boy until he left, looking uncomfortable at Stan's lack of response. Stan did sigh in slight regret. He missed having a proper conversation with another human being, but none of these scumbags were worth his time. Not that Stanely was much better, but at least Stan cared for something other than his own hide.

The days continued like this, in the same cycle. Days of utter inactivity and others of overexertion was the constant harsh pattern as Stanley did nothing more than survive.

"Stanley Pines? You have a visitor."

Stan lifted his head slowly from his bed, staring at the guard in disbelief. He pushed himself off the cot, internalizing a groan. He had forced himself into one of his rigorous excercised the day before and his muscles ached.

At least he'd dropped weight. He was in better shape than he had been for the last three decades. He stepped out the door, walking in tandem with the two guards at his side until they reached a door.

The officer on his right held it open and Stan stepped through hesitantly. Who on this planet wanted to talk to him?

His eyes flickered towards the booths and he blinked in surprise.

 _Stanford?_

...

Ford was...feeling.

There were almost too many thoughts and emotions to properly explain, but the most overriding feeling happened to be relief. Weeks had gone by before he was given the green light to see his brother. Behind a glass wall, of course. It was hard trying to explain away why Stanford had "allowed" his twin to take his identity and where the real Stanford had been for thirty years.

Ford scrutinized his brother as he gestured to the phone on the other side of the glass. He was definitely skinnier than Ford remembered. Stan walked up to the seat slowly, picking up the receiver as he sat down.

"Heya Ford." Stan muttered, his face blank and his eyes trained on the opposite wall. Brows furrowing in concern, Ford tapped on the glass to get Stan to look at him. Stan glanced at him and Ford finally spoke.

"Stanley." Ford frowned when Stan wouldn't hold his gaze. "What are you doing here?"

Stan huffed. "Wrong question, Poindexter."

Ford sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Please, don't. Not right now. Just answer the question, Stanley."

Ford watched as Stan slumped in his seat, letting the phone drop for a moment before bringing it back up to his ear.

"You know why." Stan still refused to look at him.

Ford snapped, he stood up and banged his fist on the table, making the guards around them jump in surprise. "No, I don't! Stanley, I never wanted you to leave!"

The noise made Stan jerk his head to look up at Ford, who was glaring at him through the glass. Stan blinked.

"Yes, you did." He said simply, Ford watched in shock as Stan stood up, nodded towards a guard and left through the door he came through, leaving Ford behind, gaping.

 _Guess it's time for plan B._

* * *

 **stan: I'm like a robot. Beep boop.**

 **Ford: ...you are are worse than a slippery snake singing sappy songs.**

 **Stan: ...who are you and what have you done with my brother!?**

 **XD idek. Anyways! OMGOSH MM I LOVE YOUR OUTLINE XD. "Exposition is expositiony." And "narration is narrationy." Especially spoke to me. XD**

 **D** **idja know I get emails everytime one of you follows or reviews my stories!? XD now everytime I get an email my fingers are crossed it's you or any of you BECAUSE YOU'RE ALL ABLAZE! XD anyways, thank you for spamming me. Is this more enough for ya? :P XD. I wrote this like not ten minutes after I saw your reviews...sorry if it's short and a bit eh. :/**


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